A Good Night's Sleep
by o0-Kat-0o
Summary: Of all the residents in Moria, some desire Mithril, some desire mayhem, and some just want... a little peace and quiet!


Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own The Lord of the Rings; it is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant to infringe on any copyrights. Anything in quotation marks, "example" is a direct quotation from the book. Also note that while most of the history is taken from the books, the account of the Fellowship's journey through Moria is taken from the movie. Why? Because I wanted to!  
  
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Dear Gentle Reader,  
  
Mine is an untold tale of woe. I have not slept properly in ages, I have had my privacy invaded repeatedly, and I cannot get a moment's peace. But I am getting ahead of myself; you do not know who I am or where my tale begins. I am the Balrog, I live in the deepest places of Moria, and I have done so comfortably for a very long time!  
  
I suppose it started with the Dwarves. They discovered mithril in the caves of Moria, and came in great droves to get more. The little boogers were constantly making noise with their mining, but that was all right as long as they stayed in the upper levels. But did they? No! And no again, they just had to dig deeper, closer, and right into where they didn't belong! Well of course I had to fricassee a few of them, being a creature of shadow and flame and all that.  
  
Well, things got really bad when the Orcs showed up, they had a big long war and that was noisy like you wouldn't believe! Of course I was pulling for the Orcs because I thought since they were evil like me they would obviously respect my needs. Well they were not so bad at first, but then some horrible little Dwarf they called Balin had to go and try to take Moria back. Mind you they are fighting over ownership of my home!  
  
The next period of history was blessedly short: Balin's control of Moria. Yes, he drove out the Orcs for a while. Then came the incessant mining and noise again, they just don't get it. Oh, and have you ever heard a Dwarf drinking song? I have. It's bad! Well I had to take a slightly more active hand this portion of the history. Not too bad though, a massacre here and there. Then the Orcs came back.  
  
Balin and his cronies were wiped out, by the Orcs and their infernal war drums. Always the drums, it's driving me crazy! The entire mine is constantly shaking, and then there's the instability of Orc tunnels, bad stuff let me tell you! And the drums, don't get me started on the drums.  
  
Well I thought things would naturally calm down once the Orcs had killed off all the Dwarves. They would have no more reason to beat the war drums since they weren't at war, and we could just live peaceably and quietly together. I was wrong, yet again. The Orcs are just as bad as any Dwarf. They're constantly partying, they ride their cave trolls too fast, they play their drums too loud, and they never lock the door when they come home in the wee hours of the morning!  
  
Well now you know where I'm coming from; let me tell you my latest trial. The Orcs had been relatively quiet; I was sure this night I would get a little shut eye. Things were going well, aside from the fact that the neighbor's kraken was barking at all hours of the night, but I can live with that.  
  
I was just getting comfortable when I heard something. It was far off at first, but coming down at a rapid pace. A clanging and banging sound that echoed off every wall. Well I looked up just in time to have a helmet with a head still in it hit me square on the noggin. Well I was rubbing my nose and trying to decide where that came from when the rest of him hit me! Followed by about ten or so yards of chain and a heavy metal bucket! Someone was trying to get me that much was clear! I was POed, no two ways about it. It was time to go up there and teach those Orcs some manners. There was only one minor drawback, the Endless Stair.  
  
I'm on the first flight of stairs when 'it' starts. The blasted drums! If I never hear another drum it'll be too soon! They are so dead this time.  
  
I'm on the second flight of stairs, and I hear a thumping and crashing. They let the cave troll out again; they had to let the cave troll out. Wrath is far too cool a term for what they're going to feel when I get up there.  
  
Flight three, the howling starts. Why do they do that? Is it such a hard thing to go into battle quietly? They would certainly never be able to pull off a surprise attack; you can hear them a mile away. I am at least that far right now, and I am ready to scream.  
  
Four flights of stairs. What's that I hear? Sword crashes! They're having a bloody battle; figuratively and literally. Who are they fighting now? I find it hard to believe that the Dwarves are back for more so soon. I am really going to kill them, and whoever they're fighting as well!  
  
I am on the fifth flight, and I want to know whose idea it was to put so many stinking stairs in Moria. This is a cave not a gym! As for the Orcs. What's this quiet? I think they just lost. Well fancy that! Wait, I can hear the reinforcements now. I have a headache. Do you know what it's like to get a headache when you're head is on fire? Not pleasant!  
  
Last flight of stairs here I come! Just up these steps and around the corner. I can hear the Orcs running for their little lives now, which just leaves the latest intruders to deal with. Time to run a quick equipment check; I am quite the Balrog-scout, and never one to be caught unprepared. Got the whip, got the sword, got the garlic (aside from being good for your heart, it gives you very nice Balrog-like breath).  
  
Okay, around the corner and. Darn it all, where did they go? Oh fudge, their headed for the bridge of Khazad-Dum. That means more stairs, I really need to renovate. Well I get to the stairs and find that the little runts have totaled the walkway behind them. My hospitality has reached its max, it's a good thing I have wings!  
  
I finally catch up to them and what do I find? A bunch of Hobbits, Humans, one Dwarf, and an Elf; haven't seen one of those in a while. Good thing too, my cousin was brutally murdered by some pointy-eared pretty-boy they called Glorfindel.  
  
I am mad enough at this point not to care who it is though. I'm going to flay them, fry them, and serve them up at the next family reunion. The relatives will eat anything. But that's beside the point; I am close enough now that they are basically trapped, they're still running and all that, but they won't get far. Suddenly one of them stops halfway across the bridge and faces me. This would be quite humorous if I were in the mood for it. But you see I'm developing a migraine right now; what more can I say? Well the little old man (and I say that because he was little, old, and dressed in a frumpy grey dress/robe/thing) stands up to me and shouts something along the lines of how I can't pass. Yeah right, and this little punk is going to stop me? Then he says something else that catches my attention, it went like this.  
  
"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass."  
  
Well I must admit it sounded important, though I couldn't quite remember why. Oh well, it didn't matter, I would squash him like a bug and that would be that. So I pull out my sword and go to dice the granny-man. He holds this little tiny sword and somehow I can't seem to break through! This is not my day; I think I must be losing my edge. Then he says that I 'shall not pass' again and slams his stick on the bridge. Well I have had quite enough of these guys wrecking the flooring that I just had done and so I take out my whip to finish him. But as soon as I step out onto the bridge it breaks like glass.  
  
I have wings, enough said. But the tunnel doesn't widen out enough to fly for a few miles yet. Obviously I'm going to have to invest in anger management therapy before I worry about the house repairs. This whole incident is going to kill my property value. So what do I decide to do? Take them out with me! Let me tell you, this is not always the best plan. I swing my whip up and who do I snag? The horrid old man! He falls, and we both fall for a few miles. I spread my wings to fly, thinking that the miscreant will go splat and solve all my problems. He didn't; I forgot there was a lake at the bottom of this endless chasm.  
  
Next I have to fight this long battle with what I later find out is actually a wizard. I wish I had known that before I got involved! Oh, I suppose now would be a good time to let you know that I dictated this letter posthumously. I can't believe that frail little grandfather beat me, put me out like a birthday candle! And now he's a white wizard and I'm a has-been! The cruel irony of it, but I digress. In case you're wondering I have a cozy new spot deep under some very quiet neighbors. Yes, Balrogs come back the same way forest fires get started. So kids, don't play with matches. Anyway, the upstairs residents are so very quiet that I don't really know who they are, just that the place is called Valinor. Maybe I'll visit someday.  
  
Well I have spent enough of your time, and now I will say farewell. May you glean some valuable lessons of life from this story. And may you be a quiet neighbor, when good folks (or bad folks even) are trying to sleep.  
  
Sincerely,  
The Balrog 


End file.
